


howl

by 100demons



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was too fucking sober and gay for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	howl

It was a shitty rager with some dumb theme that involved wearing patriotic flags and dry humping girls dressed in plastic wrap and tottering around in heels sharp enough to impale. Even worse, Jean couldn’t even taste the boozey burn in the jungle juice it was so watered down. He was too fucking sober and gay for this shit. 

“You okay?”

The floorboard next to him creaked and a slim, tall figure unfolded itself from the shadow of the porch railing. Jean could hardly make out the face-- pale, with big dark eyes and curly brown hair. 

“No,” Jean said, giving the stranger a quick one-sided look. “Not really.”

There was a long pause as the stranger cocked his head, eyes half-lidded. “You don’t look too happy.”

“The party sucks,” Jean said shortly and leaned his elbows against the railing, looking out at the nearly empty back-yard, littered with the remnants of last week’s grimy solo cups and used condom wrappers. Just more reminders of how much he didn’t fit in, here in the land of the straight frat bro. 

The stranger dug around in his pocket for a bit before producing a slim white joint, expertly rolled with a cardboard roach tucked in. “You want a light?’

Jean gave him a look. “Dude, you’re not one of the creepers who goes around spraying his shit with Lysol to kill people, are you? There was a whole email thing going around about that.”

The stranger looked offended, leaning forward enough so that Jean caught a quick flash of freckles in the moonlight. “Don’t group me with Ymir, she’s fucking crazy. And she only did it so she could get back at Reiner and Bertl anyway.” 

It was a well known fact of the universe that one only crossed Ymir on the pain of excruciatingly prolonged death. It was also a well known fact of the universe that Reiner Braun was fucking insane. 

“Alright, alright,” Jean said and pulled a light out of his pocket. A sharp hiss as the gas burned and the flame flickered into existence, a dim orange light that defined the sharp lines of the stranger’s face, illuminating his cheekbones and the lush curves of his lips. Jean felt heat coil up at the base of his stomach and ducked his head, hoping that it was dark enough for his sudden flush to be hidden.

He hovered close enough that his breath (bud and booze and just a hint of something sweet) ghosted over the skin of Jean’s throat, sending goosebumps down his back. A dark red ember flared at the tip of the joint and the stranger pulled in deeply, cheeks hollowing. Jean looked away. 

“‘s good,” he said and smiled up at Jean, slow and sweet, smoke wreathed around his open mouth. “You can put your lighter away now.”

“Right,” Jean coughed and flicked it off with shaky hands, stuffing it back into his jacket pocket. 

“You want a go?”

Jean swallowed and nodded. Their fingers grazed as the joint passed hands and Jean fought the urge to lean in, to touch more than just--

“‘m Marco. Marco Bodt.”

“Jean,” he said and then pulled in deeply, tasting the bitter acrid smoke of weed and a hint of sweetness, like cherry lip gloss or one of the bubble gum chapsticks they sold for little girls. Jean blew out slowly, in Marco’s direction, so that the smoke curled around his hair and gave him a smoky gray crown. He had glossy lips, shiny and pink, bright enough that Jean could see it even with the thin sliver of moonlight and the strobe lights from the party inside. He wondered if it would taste the same as--

“You wear lipstick or something?” Jean blurted out, joint still tucked between his fingers. 

There was a pause and then: “Lip balm,” Marco said in a quiet voice. 

“Oh.” Jean licked his lips and watched Marco watch him. The tip of the joint burned a deep smoldering crimson, shrouded with ash and a thin trail of smoke. 

“Fuck it,” Jean said and ground the joint down against the railing in one smooth motion, leaning forward with enough speed that he fell forward awkwardly into Marco’s chest, nose planted firmly in his collarbone. 

“Ow,” Marco said faintly, heartbeat hammering away so fast Jean could feel it, even through his jacket and Marco’s thin black shirt. His arms had automatically come around Jean’s back to catch him and Jean could feel the strength in them, hard muscle pressed into his skin. It felt good and hard and familiar, in the dim haze that clouded his thoughts (in the back of his mind, he entertained the possibility that he was probably a little less sober than he had previously thought and that this was probably a bad idea, then promptly dismissed it). 

“This is thanks,” Jean said, mouth hovering over the pulsing beat in Marco’s throat, so close that their two heartbeats seemed to harmonize, a quick rat a tat tat. And he reached up and kissed those slick, shiny lips, soft and wet and tasting like tacky 99 cent lip gloss. 

Marco’s mouth opened willingly and Jean sucked on Marco’s lower lip, enjoying the soft whimpers Marco made deep in his throat, fingers bunched up in fistfuls of Jean’s jacket. Jean pressed deeper, tasting artificial cherries, a cloyingly sweet stickiness that contrasted sharply with the acrid taste of bud. 

“Jesus,” Marco breathed raggedly when they broke for air, one hand around Jean’s slim waist, the other curled up at the nape of Jean’s neck. “Just for one quick hit?” 

Jean nuzzled the clean line of Marco’s jaw, hints of stubble scraping his cheek. “You could say that,” he said, fingers trailing down the thin black cotton shirt and down towards hip bones sharp enough to cut. “Car?”

“Out-- front--” Marco muffled his groan in the crook of Jean’s neck, hips jerking as he grinded against Jean’s hand. “Unless you want this to end right _now_.” Jean grinned into the base of Marco’s throat, tasting sweat. “Car,” he said again, much more firmly, and the two of them stumbled off the back porch, a mess of tangled limbs and sloppy kisses stolen every few moments. They wound their way past couples pressed against the rough brick walls, smoky thin shadows caressing hollow cheeks and sweaty throats, past the tree draped with toilet paper and g-strings, away from the rowdy crowd of boys huddled around a tower of empty beer cans, drunkenly shouting war cries.

It was a dark brown blob in the night, hot and sticky against his palm. Jean raised an eyebrow, looping a lazy finger in Marco’s belt loop and pulling him in closer. “A Camry?”

“Fuck you,” Marco said, one hand fumbling for his keys and the other flat against Jean’s stomach, thumb tracing small distracting circles. 

“No, I want _you_ to fuck me,” Jean said, pressing his mouth against Marco’s carotid and tasting the way his heart beat. He bit down, hard. Marco hissed and his hips rolled in an aching motion against Jean thigh, keys scraping frantically against metal.The door popped open with a click and Marco wrenched it open, just barely clipping Jean’s hip with the edge.

“Sorry, sorry--”

Jean pressed forward and the two of them fell in awkwardly, Jean half straddling Marco’s hips, their legs still leaning against the edge of the door. 

Marco keened as Jean made his slow, methodical way down Marco’s chest, counting each rib and kissing each one. “Wait the door--” His voice hitched as Jean’s tongue swirled over his nipple before blowing on it gently, shuddering in pleasure. “ _Door_ ,” Marco said much more firmly, cupping Jean’s jaw with a gentle hand. “And your bony knee’s cutting off circulation in my leg.”

Jean flushed and he could feel the tips of his ears heating up. “Right, right--” The two awkwardly shoved themselves into the car, Marco doing a weird butt shuffle and Jean hovering over him, pulling their long limbs inside the car. The door shut and instantly it became quieter inside the car, sticky and silent as Jean tried to sort out his mussed hair and clothes and the way the front of his jeans were wet with precum. Making eye contact was suddenly very difficult.

“No rush,” Marco said, his voice low and husky. “I don’t want to rush it with you,” he added and Jean looked up, surprised. 

Marco’s eyes were now almost black, pupils blown so wide they were only circled by a thin ring of brown. “Don’t you remember me, Kirchstein?”

Jean licked his lips and shook his head, fascinated by the way the shadows over Marco’s face changed and flickered as cars rushed by outside, headlights briefly illuminating the spaces between them. 

“I sat behind you last semester in calc,” Marco said back against the other car door, shirt rucked up over his chest, exposing a flat pale expanse that Jean wanted to kiss, to mark. “You always sat next to Jaeger.”

At _his_ name, all the wind rushed out of him and Jean couldn’t breathe anymore, caught between these warm dark eyes and Eren’s hard green eyes, narrowed into slits. _“I can’t do this anymore, Jean. We have to stop.”_

“Not anymore,” Jean said sharply and leaned forward so that he was in Marco’s lap now, bony knees digging into the leather car seat. “I’m right here in this car with _you_.” Not Eren, not anymore. Not right now. 

“Okay,” Marco said and ducked his head so Jean couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes. Jean ground his hips and Marco gasped, throwing his head back so that the smooth curve of his neck was exposed, milky white except for the trail of freckles that lined his jaw and down his throat. Jean kissed it, licking and sucking until Marco was shaking and mewling, hands fisted in the soft leather of Jean’s jacket. With a free hand Jean was halfway to unzipping Marco’s jeans before Marco shook his head and shoved him back with a shaky hand against his chest.

“What--”

Marco smiled up at him, lips red and swollen. “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve dreamed about sucking you off, Jean Kirchstein.”

Jean swallowed.

Marco pushed Jean back further, until he was lying all the way back in the car seat, legs curled up around Marco’s hips and shirt hiked up, Marco’s hands suddenly teasing and taunting and caressing everywhere, tugging the hem of his jeans down, breath hot and warm even through the thin cotton of his boxers. Jean moaned, hips bucking as he goes half-hard just from the slight pressure of Marco’s mouth, the almost gentle way he mouthed him. 

“Fuck are you gonna--” Jean’s head hit the cold plastic of the car door and stars flashed across his vision, pain and pleasure bleeding into each other, head aching and cock throbbing. Through half-closed eyes he could just barely make out the perfect slick ring of Marco’s mouth as he went down, thin fingers wrapped around the base of Jean’s dick. Jean gripped the edge of the car seat, fingernails digging into soft leather, forcing his hips to stay perfectly, achingly still. 

Marco had other ideas. 

Muscles in his throat working, Marco took him in deeper and deeper with every smooth bob of his head, until his lips just barely touched the base of his dick and Jean groaned, hips jerking up, just enough that Marco made a tight choking noise. 

The sound hit Jean like a firecracker, igniting something deep inside of him, burning his self-control into ash. His fingers tangled up in curly black hair, he felt the satisfied hum in Marco’s throat as he rocked desperately, pulling Marco closer so he could fuck that beautiful, perfect little mouth, wet with spit and gloss and precum. He ground his hips desperately in one final thrust, watching the shadows fall over those long eyelashes, the hollows of his cheeks, and thought of Eren’s tight mouth, glistening with cum and strawberry lipgloss, and came in one shuddering gasp.

Marco licked his lips, swallowing every last drop.

“You all right?”

Jean leaned back on his elbows, head rolling back so he didn’t have to look at Marco’s sweaty face, mouth red and swollen and absolutely ruined. “Never been better,” he said, mouth tasting sharp and bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> happy christmas eve! an early gift to all those seeking porn on this cold winter night.


End file.
